Consider:
Sara is putting her house on the market after tending it lovingly for 18 years. At the same time, her job of many years is coming to an end. As you might imagine, that makes for more work than one person can do.
A small thing, but a symbolic one. Her mailbox is showing a lifetime of wear.
Replacing it is one more chore to add to the "get the house ready" list. That list is already endless, undoable. How do you pack up a lifetime in two short weeks?
Because it's on her mind, the mailbox makes a cameo appearance in a chance conversation about curb appeal. As it happens, said conversation was with a retired neighbor who has both time and paint to spare. Not long after, an unexpected text, accompanied by a picture, arrives. "I painted your mailbox."
The world is suddenly a brighter, warmer, more livable place.
Question:
Might the kindness we are still able to show one another at moments like these let us rebuild a United States worthy of the name?
Rumination:
Zoroastrianism was a dualistic religion of light and dark, one whose followers believed people freely chose sides. Once their choice was made, there was no turning back.
The faithful were assured that evil would be vanquished and good would prevail--ultimately. But they were also given a stark warning.The struggle would be fierce and the timeline would be measured not in years or centuries, but in eons.
Do you see the parallel to Doctor King's famous pronouncement, "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice?” Lovely symmetry between the poetry of the 6th century BCE and the 20th century Ad Dominum, isn't it?
Conclusion:
I wish I had the certainty of either Zoroaster or King. I don't. Like all disillusioned romantics, I have only cynical forebodings.
Yet, faithless as I am, when I look at Sara's mailbox, I find myself lifted on the fragile wings of hope.
__________________
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| Photo:R.Vazquez/MediaNews |
Our friend who lost his house, Paul, has not left the fire zone.
He and a group of neighbors have been cutting trees and clearing brush to build a fire break around the few houses in their area that survived. Because he has experience in that kind of work, Paul is committed to being there and doing what he can.
People can be so amazing in the face of tragedy and disaster. There they are working flat out in heavy smoke, short on supplies, a bit anxious about the fact that there was at least one shooting somewhere in the general vicinity. They could leave, but if they do, they won't be able to get back.
They've made a choice that some would call foolhardy. For them, it's not. They're focused on saving what they can so that there is something to come back to, a base from which to begin again.
What makes some people willing to be that selfless, that brave - even after losing everything?
I am reminded of my brother calling me late one night, long ago. He'd just been to the place he'd be going the next morning. Part of his paramedic test was rappelling down something--a cliff, a bridge? I don't remember. Something tall.
Kevin doesn't love heights, but he really wanted to pass, so he'd gone out to sit with his unease so that he'd be ready in the morning.
What drives a person surpass themselves like that?
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